“No,” Charlie replied; “but then you see that is not my way. I should have cried all night; but then I am not a great, strong fellow like you, and it would not be so hard to be knocked about.”
“It's no use making excuses, Charlie. I know I ought not to have given way to my temper like that. Now, Lucy dear, as you are feeling better, you must sit up and talk to me. How is mother?”
“Mother is in bed,” Lucy said. “She's always in bed now; the house is dreadful, Ned, without you, and they say you are not to come back yet,” and the tears came very near to overflowing again.
“Ah! well, I hope I shall be back before long, Lucy.”
“I hope so,” Lucy said; “but you know you will soon be going away again to be a soldier.”
“I shall not go away again now, Lucy,” Ned said quietly. “When I come back it will be for good.”
“Oh! that will be nice,” Lucy said joyously, “just as it used to be, with no one to be cross and scold about everything.”
“Hush! little woman, don't talk about that. He had his faults, dear, as we all have, but he had a great deal to worry him, and perhaps we did not make allowances enough for him, and I do think he was really fond of you, Lucy, and when people are dead we should never speak ill of them.”
“I don't want to,” Lucy said, “and I didn't want him to be fond of me when he wasn't fond of you and Charlie or mother. It seems to me he wasn't fond of mother, and yet she does nothing but cry; I can't make that out, can you?”
Ned did not answer; his mother's infatuation for Mr. Mulready had always been a puzzle to him, and he could at present think of no reply which would be satisfactory to Lucy.